No One's Pity
by Slowhand
Summary: Short crawl through Javier's mind after the conflict at the hotel with Katy.


**Summary:** Little story about how Javier must have felt when Katy spilt over his tray and offered to pay for it.

**Disclaimer:** I never own anything, so why bother pretending I do with this?

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The pulse of the Havana sun was hot on his skin, and the young waiter was drenched in humiliation. Running back to the shade of the hotel with broken glasses and the conversations fresh in his mind, Javier bolted into his supervisor only to find that he would have to pay for the broken glasses despite the fact that he did not break them it.

Furious, he started throwing the glasses in the garbage when he noticed a stalking figure looking at him. He could feel her inevitable glare peircing into his skull. Javier looked up expectantly, eyebrows raised. Why would she, an American – an outsider, want to speak with him? They were his _betters_.

"Hola…" the poor girl started saying slowly as if Javier were a stupid Cuban who only knew two things. One being work and two being Spanish.

"I know English." Javier snapped back. Everyone who comes to Cuba seems to think that no one understands English. It really pissed him off.

"Look, I'm sorry for the glasses. It was my fault." She said with trepidation, not really wanting to stay and chat any longer. It looked to Javier that she was starting to regret coming down to talk with him. Before she even thought of leaving, she thrust a wad of bills at his face, and looked at him expecting gratitude.

He squinted his eyes and took a good look at her. She was tall, much taller than he could ever grow to be, and had a bush of blond hair. Her outfit made him gag though. It looked as if her mother had set out clothes for her to wear the night before. A black skirt pulled up much too high, a button down blouse, a long-sleeved sweater, hair pulled back to perfection… What is it with this girl? Throughout the days he spends at the restaurant catering, Javier noticed that majority of the American girls like to reveal themselves more than usual, or rather as much as they can with the ugly dresses they own.

"I don't need your charity." He said with a defiant tone, pretending he didn't notice the bills. He wanted so much to take them, and give them to his family. The temptation was sickening, but he would not take money from this American girl – no matter how sincere she may seem. The last thing he needed was her pity.

He began setting the spoiled order of drinks again when the girl said, "No really, it was my fault..." Javier heard enough. The drinks were ready, and he breezed by her, glad that she was out of his hair.

As he walked back to the same table that called him racial slurs and insulted him, he replayed the situation in his mind. What he saw in the bar had never happened to him in all the years he worked at the hotel. No one ever was sorry for what they spilled over, or had done to him. It was all the stupid Cuban waiter's fault. And no one had gone as far as offered to _pay _for the damages done. Javier smiled to himself. There was something special about that girl, but he knew that he would never see her again. Her family is a proper stick in the mud; the same as everyone else here.

His smile vanished abruptly when he heard the obnoxious blond exclaim rudely "Finally – our drinks! I've been dying out here." Javier placed them on the tray expressionless. "Hey guys, the stupid spic didn't drop them this time." He didn't bother looking up. He didn't want to look up. There was no point. Why be a courteous waiter? He is just a stupid Cuban in their eyes – the same view as any American guest here; everyone except the mysterious blond girl who seemed as if she had a heart, which is an odd finding here in Havana.

Javier made his way though the unfolded beach chairs and chlorine-drenched tourists back to the bar. He set down his tray and looked at the horizon, elbows on the bar counter. The beach was so beautiful, and the waves were so rhythmic and had an orange tint of the sun glistening on its surface. Javier sighed. There are still some things in Cuba that stay beautiful.

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On his way home from the hotel, Javier met up with his grandfather. He was planning on hosting a black party in the center of town, and asked Javier if he would go.

"Please, Javier. I'll be playing guitar and I'm sure your bothers won't want to come. Come, Javi. You need to dance. You look so stressed," said his abuellito with sympathy.

"Alright" said Javier, kicking the dirt. He usually loved going to the center of town to dance – especially when his grandfather was playing the music, but all this week he felt uptight. Raw feelings about a revolution to throw out Batista were accumulating inside him. His father had died for the coming revolution. Javier felt as if he should do something to help spark it.

"Great. Come down around mid afternoon. You'll be glad you came," his grandfather smiled at him, patted his shoulder, and rushed off to get ready for the block party.

Javier wandered the streets, looking around at the beautiful buildings that made up his heritage. Like any other Cuban, he wanted the Americans that were living on their land to hitch a ride out of their country. Javier lived here longer than any of the Americans at the hotel, and he was treated like a regular jackass. It wasn't fair.

And that blond, straight-laced girl kept haunting his mind. Why did she step above the crowd? What, in God's name, made her do such a nice thing? All Javier could do at the time was act pissed and hope that she would leave him to his work. Javier, nor any the other workers, wasn't allowed to mingle with the guests anyway. He would lose his coveted job, and he couldn't risk that for his family's sake.

Javier heard his grandfather's playing and looked away from his moving feet to see that there was already a huge crowd gathered, dancing away. Javier smiled and jogged over to his abuello, and threw his jacket on the back of his chair. His grandfather smiled at him as Javier walked over to his friends, and started dancing.

He was out there for what seemed like hours, but no one had any priorities. They were just there to dance and have a good time doing so. Javier wooed some of the passer-bys with some tricks that he and his friend thought up – jumping over each other's back and hopping back up. During mid flamingo step he looked up. He felt the same glare he felt the other day. It was her. The blond from the hotel. His heart started racing and he cursed himself for thinking of an American in that way. He stared at her for a moment and walked over to her, smiling.

It would be the beginning of the end for the two of them.

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